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April 26, 2005

Boxed-In

On the right side of my computer desktop I have a number of folders, each of which contains files that I have something to do with right now. Previously, these files would stay in my email inbox, which acted as my to-do list. But now the computer desktop folders are my to-do lists. Every file has its folder—stories to edit, stories to finish writing, advertisers to talk to (this folder is conspicuously empty).

My email inbox is currently empty. All correspondence answered, all junk mail junked, all cell-phone numbers input into my address book, a place for everything, and everything is—currently—in its place.

I am in a state of zen-like nirvanic peace. My life, computer-wise, is completely organized. My computer’s processor can be heard—actually heard—to be humming on a higher place, at an efficiency it rarely knows.

When the little message indicator lights up, I open my email. It’s a newsletter! Will I read it? No—delete it! My grasp of email has reached a new level of streamlined-ness. I want to email everyone to tell them what I’ve done, but I don’t want the responses clogging up my inbox. No, no, please don’t clog my inbox. Because even though we’re friends, I will secretly resent you for sending me that message, even though communication used to be a friendly thing that we would do, you and me, like friends would do.

But now when you email me you’re clogging up my inbox, which prior to you doing that, was empty, and my life was pure, and we were friends.

I wonder how long I can keep my email like this, how long I can keep it under control, and when I can finally get rid of it altogether, because I have a nagging feeling that email is turning out to be a lot more trouble for people than it’s worth to us.

Until then, zen-like, nirvanic, eyes focused on the icon and ready to DELETE!




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